Jerat Cinta Pembantu Jandaku

In the bathroom of the most luxurious hotel suite in Reystein City, Samantha Jade was pinned down in the bathtub by Connor Parker. His movements were wild and unrestrained.

Before her stretched a massive floor-to-ceiling window. The lights of half the city flickered and shifted in her field of vision.

Gripping her throat with unsettling excitement, Connor teased her, "Turns you on, doesn't this?"

When it was finally over, Samantha soaked in the bathwater, drained. She shut her eyes for just a moment.

When she woke, the bathroom was empty.

The door had been locked from the outside.

She banged on it with all her strength, but there wasn't a single sound from beyond.

"Connor! Are you there? The door's broken—I can't open it! Connor!"

Her voice rang out, sharp and panicked, but he was nowhere to be found.

Ever since the fire three years ago, she'd been left with deep psychological scars.

Claustrophobia had taken root. The moment she was trapped in a closed space, the fear became unbearable. Her whole body would begin to tremble.

She cried for help again and again, but no one came.

Her breathing grew rapid, and the sensation of suffocation tightened around her, invisible but real—as if unseen hands were closing in around her throat.

Her mind flooded with the image of her parents burning to death.

Just before she lost consciousness, there was movement outside.

Connor had returned with a locksmith.

"Samantha, the door's broken. Hold on, the locksmith's opening it now."

The moment the door swung open, she collapsed into his arms.

"Samantha, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I should've stayed with you," he whispered, holding her close, his eyes full of what looked like regret.

She rested for a while, and Connor went to the next suite to play cards with his friends.

Though she tried to calm herself, the fear and unease still gripped her tightly. Forcing herself up despite the lingering discomfort, she thought of bringing them some late-night snacks.

But as she approached the door to the neighboring suite, she found it slightly ajar. Voices drifted out, impossible to ignore.

"Connor, if you ask me, you should've waited longer before going in. Let her symptoms get worse. You're too easy on her."

"Hahaha, that idiot probably still thinks Connor is her savior. She has no idea he doesn't love her at all. The whole three-year relationship? Just revenge."

"Exactly. Remember when Connor secretly swapped her thesis? That's why the school canceled her diploma. He just said a few sweet words, and she thought her life had hope again."

"And the ashes of her parents—she thought someone stole them and threw them away. Connor went with her to file a police report, and she cried like he was her only support. But it was him. He did it."

"Oh, and when she was working late at the company and a colleague was seriously injured—she got arrested and was scheduled to be locked up in jail for a month. Connor pulled some strings to get her out, and she nearly married him on the spot. She doesn't know he set up the entire scene!"

"…"

Samantha's heart slammed against her chest. Her throat tasted bitter, her palms damp with sweat. Her mind blanked.

She leaned on the wall, struggling just to stay upright. One by one, the events of the past years replayed in her head. Every piece slid into place.

So Connor never loved her.

So everything she'd suffered—every misfortune, every loss—he had orchestrated.

And she hadn't seen any of it coming.

"Well, she's only got herself to blame. She's the one who pushed Cathy off the building back then. There was no proof, so the cops couldn't do anything. But we got our revenge and made her watch her parents die in that fire. Couldn't even keep their ashes. Hahaha. Too bad for Connor though, had to grit his teeth through it all."

In the center of the group, Connor sat with a glass of liquor in hand, his gaze cold and unreadable. He said nothing.

He was nothing like the man who'd once spoken so many soft words to her.

Samantha felt bile rising in her throat. Clutching her stomach, she turned and rushed back to her room. Her nerves still raced out of control, sparking like live wires under her skin.

Her phone rang.

It was her uncle, who had only recently reconnected with her.

"Samantha, have you thought about what I mentioned last time? Our family business is still—"

She parted her lips, forcing back the pain tearing at her heart. "I'll come back. But I need your help with something. I want to fake my death. I need you to prepare a body and a new identity for me."

There was a pause on the other end. He didn't ask why.

"Alright," he said.